The Pilot's Lounge #6:A Pilot for All Time, More Cold Tips, and a Memorable Flight

Winter's not over yet, not by a long shot. While waiting for the preheater to thaw out your airplane, have you ever wondered about the first pilots to brave cold-weather flying? AVweb's Rick Durden has, and he took the time to research the

About the Author ...

Rick Durden is a
practicing aviation attorney who holds an ATP Certificate, with a type rating
in the Cessna Citation, and Commercial privileges for gliders, free balloons
and single-engine seaplanes. He is also an instrument and multi-engine flight
instructor. Rick started flying when he was fifteen and became a flight
instructor during his freshman year of college.

He did a little of everything
in aviation to help pay for college and law school including flight
instruction, aerial application, and hauling freight. In the process of trying
to fly every old and interesting airplane he could, Rick has accumulated over
5,400 hours of flying time. In his law practice, Rick regularly represents
pilots, fixed base operators, overhaulers, and manufacturers. Prior to
starting his private practice, he was an attorney for Cessna in Wichita for
seven years.

He is a regular contributor to Aviation Consumer and AOPA Pilot
and teaches aerobatics in a 7KCAB Citabria in his spare time. Rick makes it
clear he is part owner of a corporation which owns a Piper Aztec — because,
having flown virtually every type of piston-engine airplane Cessna
manufactured from 1933 on, as well as all the turboprops and some of the jets,
he cannot bring himself to admit to actually owning a Piper.

Last month, I passed along some cold-weather operating
techniques put together by the denizens of the pilot's lounge here at our virtual airport.
In the process, I mentioned the father of cold weather flying, Bernt Balchen, and said I'd
tell you a little more about him this month. In the interim, I've also received some
feedback on cold weather ops, which I'll mention, as well as a moving first-flight
experience.

The Patron Saint Of Cold Weather Flying

In talking to pilots about cold weather ops, I've found that few are aware of the pilot
who was probably the greatest aerial adventurer of this century. Okay, okay, there about
22 months left before the we roll into a new century, but I'm going out on a limb because
I don't think anyone can surpass this guy. Part of my reasoning is based on an experience
I had about 15 years ago when I had the great good fortune to sit next to Paul Garber,
curator emeritus of the Air and Space Museum of the Smithsonian Institution. He was the
employee of the Smithsonian who had the audacity to send a telegram to Charles Lindbergh,
in Paris, asking that the Spirit of St. Louis be given to the Museum. The interesting
thing was that he sent the telegram while Lindbergh was still en route. Garber had been
such a careful observer of the aviation world up through 1927 that he knew Lindbergh would
make it. By the time I was able to speak with him, Dr. Garber was the one person who had
been in the position to know as much about the people in aviation in North America as
anyone alive.

During dinner I asked Dr. Garber whom he felt was the best all-around pilot, ever. I
expected him to identify Dr. Jimmy Doolittle (how many people know Doolittle had a Ph.D.
in aeronautical engineering?) With very little hesitation, Dr. Garber said, "Bernt
Balchen." I asked why, primarily because so few people know of Balchen. Dr. Garber
explained to me that it was because Balchen was the person absolutely everyone trusted
completely, and said that he was the only one of the famous aviators of the "golden
age" who was not a self-promoter, something which was ordinarily necessary to eat
regularly in those days. Balchen was intensely and painfully shy; however, he was simply
so good, and so brilliant, that he never wanted for work in the most challenging areas of
aviation. He was always selected for some of the toughest exploring and pioneering
expeditions.

As a result of the process of putting together the material on cold-weather operations,
I talked with our resident historian here at the pilot's lounge and dug up some material
on this amazing airman. I hope you find it as interesting as I did.

Bernt Balchen

Bernt Balchen landed on this planet on Oct. 23, 1899, in Norway. He grew up
hiking the mountains and forests of that fascinating land, disappearing into the
wilderness for weeks at a time, even as a youth. Though shy, he was reasonably fit. In
1919, he was the heavyweight boxer selected to represent Norway in the Olympics. Shortly
after the selection was made, he was also picked for pilot training in the Royal Norwegian
Navy. The Navy would not delay the training until after the Olympics, so, at 20 years of
age, Balchen was faced with a bit of a dilemma. He chose flight. As a result of that
decision he went on to do more Arctic and Antarctic flying than anyone in the pre-jet era.

By 1926, he had already done some long-distance flying over uninhabited areas and was
one of the earliest successful practitioners of ded (yes, ded, short for deduced)
reckoning navigation. He was also a practitioner of celestial navigation. Because of the
practicalities of flying in the far north, he also had become an accomplished aircraft
mechanic so that he could continue to function as a pilot. That year, he was selected as a
member of the Roald Amundsen expedition to fly an Italian dirigible over the North Pole.

While at the staging base on Spitsbergen Island, Balchen was sent over to Richard
Byrd's camp where Byrd was planning to ride over the North Pole in a Fokker Trimotor flown
by Floyd Bennet. Byrd's inexperienced crews had managed to break both sets of skis for the
airplane. Balchen built them a new set, using lifeboat oars split lengthwise for
reinforcement, then explained how to keep them from sticking to the snow. That Byrd
subsequently faked the flight over the North Pole is well-accepted now (he didn't even
stay aloft long enough to come close to having made the round trip, despite claiming a
tailwind on both legs). Interestingly, there are still some reference books and museums
which give Byrd credit for making the flight. For his work with the Americans, Balchen was
invited to come to the U.S. with Byrd's entourage. En route to the U.S., Byrd had Balchen
perform a series of navigational calculations. To Balchen's amazement, his numbers were
the ones that later appeared on the maps Byrd submitted to the Geographic Society as part
of his "proof" of the flight.

Once in the U.S., Balchen teamed with Floyd Bennett and flew the
Fokker around the country, before leaving it at the Henry Ford Museum in Dearborn, Mich.,
where it now resides (and where the plaque still says it made it over the North Pole —
but given that Henry Ford was a major contributor to the endeavor and the airplane was
named The Josephine Ford, this is not surprising). Bernt was then hired as a test pilot
for Fokker. Before long, he was sent to northern Canada to help Western Canadian Airlines
set up its cold-weather service with the Fokker Universal and Super Universal and then he
was second pilot on Byrd's flight across the Atlantic in another Fokker Trimotor shortly
after Lindbergh made the trip. Interestingly, Balchen was hired as co-pilot to famed
airshow and race pilot Bert Acosta, yet it was Balchen who actually hand-flew all but the
takeoff because the weather was lousy. Acosta, as was the case with most pilots at the
time, could not fly instruments. Upon getting to the French coast and receiving word of
deteriorating weather in Paris (they had a radio receiver), Balchen set course directly
for Paris. Byrd overrode him and demanded they fly up the coast then follow the Seine. The
extra two hours required for the detour meant they arrived after fog had set in. They had
to return to the coast. Balchen, showing a certain degree of skill, ditched the Fokker
just off the beach. All aboard got ashore without injuries.

Balchen, torn between his love of his native country and his adopted country, applied
for U.S. citizenship. While his application was pending, he went to Antarctica, where, in
November 1929, as pilot in command, he flew Byrd over the South Pole in a Ford Trimotor.
On this polar trip, there were two others aboard and a full photographic record of the
flight was made, even though Balchen had to take on the navigation chores because Byrd,
inexplicably and despite being officially the navigator, did nothing. The story of
Balchen's handling of the overloaded Ford and finding the updraft inches from the leeward
wall of a glacier valley to climb to the high south polar plateau is chilling to this day.

While in Antarctica for a year, Balchen and others invented cold-weather gear and
engine heating devices still in use all over the world. Upon returning to the U.S., the
president gave the Distinguished Flying Cross to all in the airplane, except Balchen.
Leaving the White House, Bernt was handed a subpoena. He was to be deported for violating
the terms of his citizenship application by going to the South Pole. The sensational story
was printed in newspaper extras that afternoon. Fiorello LaGuardia, then a U.S.
Representative, later Mayor of New York, and who had flown combat in World War I, got word
of the pending deportation. With Minnesota Representative Shipstead, of the other
political party, LaGuardia pushed through Congress a bipartisan bill that was signed by
President Hoover, making Balchen a citizen before he could be deported.

Bernt returned to Antarctica and made a number of other pioneering flights over that
continent.

When Amelia Earhart decided to fly a Lockheed Vega solo across the Atlantic, Balchen
prepared and test flew the airplane.

Shortly before World War II started, Army Air Corps General Hap Arnold swore Balchen
into the Army as a Major and sent him to build an airport at Sondre Stromfjord, Greenland,
to become famous as Bluie West 8. Balchen's crew built the place starting from someone's
idea that a mud flat at the end of a fjord could be made into an airport. It was used by
thousands of the airplanes and aircrew that crossed the Atlantic to fight for the Allies
in World War II.

Out of necessity, Balchen created an arctic rescue program. He and his men picked up
numerous downed airmen from the Greenland ice cap. More than once Balchen landed a PBY, a
very large, twin-engine amphibian, gear up on the icecap to rescue men dying of exposure
and lack of food. He was recommended for the Congressional Medal of Honor for these
exploits, but Admiral Richard Byrd's brother, a Senator, blocked the award.

Balchen was then sent to England to command the secret air group making flights between
Scotland and Sweden that had also taken on the task of supplying the Norwegian
Underground. In addition to flying regular missions as a full Colonel, he kept in touch
with the situation on the ground in Norway by personally sneaking across the Nazi-held
borders.

During the war, he was five times nominated for promotion to Major General, but, as it
had to be approved by Congress, which included a particular Senator, he never got the
promotion despite having kept his mouth shut about Byrd's North Pole deception.

Despite the "interesting" relationship, Balchen was said to have had great
affection and respect for Richard Byrd, a master of organizing and raising funds for polar
expeditions, but who behaved a little strangely once things were actually underway.

Following the war, Balchen was involved in the development of the current Scandinavian
airline system, then went to Alaska where he became responsible for setting up the Air
Force's arctic search and rescue operations based on his Greenland experience. While
there, he flew a DC-4 over the North Pole en route to England researching polar routes for
the Air Force. Thus, he became the first person to physically fly an airplane over both
Poles.

He passed away in the 1970s, and in one of those odd twists of fate, is buried next to
Admiral Byrd at Arlington National Cemetary.

There is a prestigious award given to airports of various sizes for outstanding snow
removal. It is hard to win, for there are some airports that are very good at the job.
Those who receive it are justifiably proud of the effort. It is simply called the Balchen
Award.

This year we will see the centennial of Bernt Balchen's birth. So, the next time you
use a preheater and manage to get your airplane started, remember that he was partially
responsible for your being able to do it.

By the way, if you want some very interesting aviation reading for these long winter
nights, I suggest: Oceans, Poles And Airmen, by Richard Montague, (Random House,
1971), about first flights over large bodies of water and extensive ice (his analysis of
the faked north pole flight and the changes Balchen made to his autobiography at the
insistence of the Byrd family will get your undivided attention); Hitch Your Wagon,
by Clayton Knight and Robert C. Durham, (Bell Publishing, 1950), a biography of Bernt
Balchen; and Come North With Me, by Bernt Balchen (E.P. Dutton & Co., 1958). As
a reader of aviation books, I've found that "Aeroplane Books" of Williamsburg,
Va., 800/447-8890, has been able to locate a number of out-of-print aviation books for me.

A Little More Cold Weather

As a result of my last column, I received a bit of sobering feedback from reader Paul
Dold. It seems he and another pilot once put duct tape over the air vent openings on a
1968 Arrow (180 hp version) one very cold day. It helped keep the cabin warm, but, unknown
to them, one of those vents also supplied cooling air to the radio stack. They fried, and
lost, the radios en route. I agree with his suggestion to make sure you know where any air
vents go before you plug them.

Paul also related a snowplow story. One night he landed on one runway at a multi-runway
airport while snow clearing operations were in process. While rolling out, his landing
light illuminated a windrow of snow across "his" runway, left by the plows
clearing the intersecting runway. He was able to stop, but it nearly ruined his evening.

In the last month, I landed at an airport where the plow operators had faced a
challenge following a major blizzard. They did not pile snow at the ends, but the sheer
volume of snow meant that a windrow was left as they made the pass at each end of the
runway. It was about two feet tall, right at the very end of the runway. So, as I said,
don't aim for the threshold of the runway at night unless the runway is very short and you
are absolutely certain you know there is nothing sticking up.

Let's be real careful out there.

The Joy Of A Child

I did something recently I'd promised my daughter I'd do once she got big enough and
the weather cooperated. She has been a climber, has taken gymnastics and loves to hang
upside down. The first time she saw an air show pilot roll an airplane onto its back she
said she wanted to try it. Finally, we did.

The local 7KCAB Citabria has a mod to the engine so it puts out 170 hp rather than 150,
which is nice. Unfortunately, it went on the market a few weeks ago, so I've been trying
to fly it before it's gone. I was getting worried that the weather would not cooperate in
the interim.

Finally the gray skies of winter rolled back, so I called to see if I could get the
Citabria about a half hour after my daughter's school let out. It was available. I showed
up at school at dismissal and was rewarded by a nine-year-old running full tilt into me
and yelling "Daddy!" I told her today was the day we were going to do
aerobatics. Her response was to sprint to the car and tell me to hurry.

On the way to the airport we talked about parachutes and rolls and loops. She wanted to
do rolls. Once at the hangar, I ran a weight and balance to see if I could put a
75-pounder with a 20-pound chute in the front seat and me in the back. Yep.

We spent about a half-hour discussing how to wear her chute, what controls were what
and how they differed from the family bug-smasher. She showed that she could pull the
mixture to idle cutoff and shut off the fuel if we had an emergency, and that she could
release the safety harness, get the door open and jump. Once strapped in, having your
daughter hit the starter on an airplane for the first time is a pretty emotional
experience. My goodness she's growing up. Well, her feet don't reach the rudders, so it
will be some time before we consider any serious dual.

It
was kind of nice flying from the back and being able to see forward clearly. Even sitting
on a cushion and a parachute, the front seat occupant didn't block much of the view.
Climbout over the snow-covered landscape was the sort of thing which inspires poets. My
passenger counted the feet until we were 4,000 feet above the ground because she wanted to
do a roll as soon as we got there. She was a little dismayed to learn we had to fly level
several miles to get to an area where we could legally do the maneuvers.

My friends, the first roll was a ball. She laughed and shouted and crowed all the way
around. She thought it was great. She loved having a window on top of the airplane so she
could see the ground when we were upside down. She wanted to do a roll herself. She wasn't
strong enough to get full aileron deflection on the Citabria, even with spades, so I
"helped." Another laughing, cheering roll. It was infectious. I've always
enjoyed "akro," but I've never been in an airplane with anyone so expressive
about the pure joy of it. Then we had to do some level inverted flight, and some loops and
some more rolls. On some rolls, she did most of the work on the ailerons. I'd figured
she'd last through a couple of rolls, a little inverted work, then a loop or two. Nope,
she wanted more. Another session of inverted flight, more rolls and then zero g, which was
a little disappointing to her because she was strapped in tightly.

Finally she decided she had had enough. While we let down, she did open the air vent
for a little fresh air (good, she's mortal), but she never expressed any other indication
of nausea.

Someone had lowered the runway by about six inches since the last time I was there, so
the landing was pronounced "bouncy." Just what I get for being a little
impatient on a wheel landing. Sigh.

As we taxied in, she started telling me that she wanted to use the parachute and wants
to skydive when she gets old enough. I just smiled. I hope that sense of adventure doesn't
desert her. After reaching the hangar, she shut the engine down with the mixture control
and said, "watch how fast I can get out." She popped the quick releases on the
two seat belts, opened the door (I worked the top latch), spun around, put her feet on the
door sill and jumped out, chute and all. Fortunately she didn't reach for the D ring, as I
had visions of paying for a re-pack.

I wrote this section a couple of hours after we flew. As I wrote it, she was still
excited. I am still very, very glad we were able to do something which was so much fun for
both of us.

Question of the Week

Picture of the Week

As aviation photos go, this was the best this week but there are some great beauty shots when you click through. In the meantime, congratulations to Daniel Gillette for this very nice photo he calls Sunset Pitch-Out. The photo is copyrighted by Gillette.